


Then There Was Light Again

by liseuse



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-02
Updated: 2010-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-09 21:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liseuse/pseuds/liseuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Nothing in particular, except that <a href="http://schemingreader.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://schemingreader.livejournal.com/"><strong>schemingreader</strong></a> can consider this her [very, shush!] belated birthday present. Angst ahoy.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Then There Was Light Again

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing in particular, except that [](http://schemingreader.livejournal.com/profile)[**schemingreader**](http://schemingreader.livejournal.com/) can consider this her [very, shush!] belated birthday present. Angst ahoy.

_Too late for everything; not too late for anything_; we flip between death and eternity, and either way nothing gets done.  
\- Don Paterson  


Sirius thinks Remus looks obscene smoking. Something about those thin lips and amazingly long fingers. He'd wondered occasionally if the fingers were long enough to stroke his prostate when opening him up, but of course not. Then, on those nights when Remus wasn't home yet, and Sirius was trying to keep himself occupied (stopping himself thinking about flashes of green light, and the way that Remus' body seemed to twist and turn and bend backwards to avoid curses and blows) he'd find himself wondering if a house elf's long fingers could do it, and then stop. Shake his head. Go to bed and try to pretend that Remus being gone didn't drive him to distraction like this.

It seems so unfair. They'd just got together and were enjoying that honeymoon period. Finally realising what James had felt when Lily had eventually succumbed. Had lounged around the flat, with all the windows open and the sunlight streaming in. Kissed, longslowlingering and spent hours tracing designs over each other's bodies.

And now the fighting had heated up. No more phoney war and practice alarms. Now it was all serious and there were hex shelters in the strangest places. Sirius thought he'd never be scared of another spell, if he could spend the whole of the attack with Remus so close he could feel every bone in his hip, and the warmth that radiated off him at all times. For someone with such cold feet, he managed to be a human radiator everywhere else. Sirius hoped this extended to an ability to repel curses.

They were still leaping on each other the minute the other got in the door, having meals at odd times because there were things they'd rather be eating. Or at least they had been. Because now they were always somewhere else. Sirius would get back and they'd have a quick five minutes together. Enough time to say _I love you_ and _Don't forget to water the plants_ and _Oh God ... oh oh oh oh ... oh GOD_ and to cast a quick scourgify. Then Remus would leave, carefully shutting the door behind him with that click that meant; don't call, don't write, I don't know where I'm going and Oh dear God I love you.

Then, well then, Sirius would pace the flat, smell the sheets, unpack, have a shower and head out to the pub so he could get drunk enough not to feel the empty space by his side. Would walk home, drunk and stumbling, and wishing he had his Moony to keep him out of the gutter, would collapse into bed and wake up the next morning to do it all over again. To an empty flat and a space in the bed. No kettle cheerfully whistling, or Remus sitting doing the crossword and trying to pretend he hadn't been smoking out of the window. The Order might want him to do something, or he'd see Meda, listen to her careful voice wondering why he was letting himself go to pieces over some half-blood boy he hadn't even been shagging very long.

He knew it wasn't the boy or the half-blood bit that bothered her, but that her cousin was suddenly so bereft. That he had become thin and drawn in, reverting back to the days when he knew his family wouldn't want him any longer, and when he knew he didn't want them, but Oh God what was he going to do without them, without a family, what would his name, his blood, his life mean. And he would turn up on Meda's doorstep at three in the morning, trying desperately not to cry. He was Sirius Black, who had braved out Howlers every day at breakfast for the first two weeks of his first term at Hogwarts, who pretended to all and sundry that his family could go to hell in a handbasket for all he cared and he who had taken great delight in pushing Reggie in the lake, in front of all the other upstart Slytherins and watching as his brother tried desperately to make it to shore, before he drowned. Because Reggie couldn't swim.

He was Sirius Black, and he had done all those things.

But he had also hidden Howlers, run to the dormitory, and silencioed the entire room so no one had to hear the hatred in his mother's voice, hear how disappointed she was in him. No, not in him. In how he had failed to live up to his name. Listen to her wish she had had daughters like her brother Cygnus. Daughters to be proud of, except for that one abomination and she was all the fault of the worrisome Rosier line as it was. She did not care at all about her son, who sobbed and sniffled where no one could hear him, who wanted nothing more than to hurl himself out of the window, crash to the ground and feel his blood seep out. If his blood left him, went into the ground, then she would have no need to hound him for how he was failing it.

He was Sirius Black, the boy who had managed to get one of the Hogwarts elves to embroider his family crest into his warm winter cloak, where it sat, gleaming black thread on the grey inside, nestled against his calf, and unknowable. He was the brother who had gone back, when everyone had tired of laughing at Reggie in the lake, still struggling to keep his head above water, and had waded in to save him. Picked him up, held him under the arms and carried him down to the Slytherin dorms. Listened whilst Reggie raged about how mother was worse, and was drinking, and how father was never home. How he didn't want to become a Death Eater, and wouldn't Sirius just come home and say he was sorry about everything and just let it be swept under the carpet. Let it disappear along with every other secret that that house held.

He was Sirius Black and what did it say about him, that his boyfriend, his partner, his Moony, being gone for a week drove him to the same extremes as losing his family forevermore. Somehow he couldn't help it though. He would sit as Meda fussed and dusted and fed the poor languishing plants, as she made him tea he didn't drink, and food he didn't eat and tsked as he smoked his way through packets of Moony's cigarettes, replacing them so Moony would never know, and then smoking those as well.

He wondered what Moony did whilst he, Sirius, was gone. Whether Moony got this distraught and useless, cancelled arrangements and languished at home refusing to change the sheets because they smelled of sex and toast and that intangible Moony smell. Probably not, Remus most likely opened the books, researched, wrote endless letters, spent time with Lily, met up with Peter in the pub, and only succumbed to this feeling of being half empty and alone when the nights drew in and the shadows fell on the flat. When they would normally be sitting in front of the fire, nursing whisky and laughing at stupid stories. Moony was better at this. Better at deprivation and being alone. Had years of experience of keeping good memories shored up to stave off the tidal wave of horrors that came flooding in when night fell and he closed his eyes.

Somehow Sirius had never managed this. Had hated sixth year, when he couldn't crawl into anyone's bed for comfort. When even James had hated him, and been slow to forgive and Remus had said he was forgiven, but flinched when he touched him, and wouldn't speak to him directly if he could help it. Sirius had wanted to be able to keep himself happy and be self-sufficient, but he missed the sense of family and brotherhood he'd only discovered for real when he'd arrived at Hogwarts and been thrust into this room with these three other boys, and had found out what it meant to curl up next to someone because the night was dark and lonely, and all you saw when you closed your eyes was your mother screaming and that dark old house.

That had all been taken away from him because of a stupid mistake, and he didn't know how to make it better. Had sat night after night behind closed curtains and tried to think of ways to make Moony see that he hadn't meant to do it, that something about Snape just riled him. Tried to think of ways to make James understand that was sorry (ohsososorry) and that he hadn't meant to fuck up completely, that he did actually value this thing called friendship. This brittle, valuable and carefully constructed tower of ice matchsticks that seemed to have tumbled down and shattered, and that he had no idea how to put back together.

Sixth year had been the worst year of Sirius' life, but these weeks and weekends were rivalling it. Because now he knew even more what he was missing. He had a steady presence in his bed, one that had forgiven him completely and that would roll over in the morning, and drape him in warmth, that would stealthily send a hand south and reduce Sirius to whimpers and writhing when it was still Too Early o'clock and they had gone to bed at half past Too Late. He had someone to cook with, to descend on James' place with, and to gently tease Peter with him about being to shy to introduce them to his girlfriend.

He loved those nights at James' place; Remus and Lily sitting in a corner giggling over a glass of red wine, occasionally shooting glances at their respective partners, and then turning back to whatever piece of gossip was currently entertaining. For someone with so many secrets, Remus loved gossip, especially as he was considered harmless and so managed to hear most of it. He had been the one who'd found out about Molly Prewett being pregnant for the first time before leaving school, he who knew that Gideon was shagging Caradoc Dearborn and how Madam Pince had nearly caught them in the library, and who would stand for hours chatting with the women who came into the greengrocer's about just how big Mrs. Stanley was getting, and wasn't she glowing with this pregnancy, but still, a bit too old for it really, and that Mrs. Harper had no right to have a go at that nice young policeman, when all he was trying to do was help, and don't we all like a man in uniform. Then when all the women were giggling, Remus would look up at Sirius, lounging in his motorbike gear and wink, those ungodly eyelashes flickering on his cheek, and Sirius would get hard right there.

But nights like that never seemed the same without Remus. Oh it was still fun. He and Lily were getting along, he'd forgiven her for stealing his best mate and realised she'd been right to refuse him for so long, even if it had meant utter torture for the rest of them and had finally realised that there was nothing to worry about where Remus and Lily were concerned. But somehow sitting, the three of them because Peter was always busy these days, in front of the fire, and chatting idly wasn't the same. There was always the undercurrent of Remus being away and on Order business and it being _dangerous_.

Dangerous and unknown because Dumbledore wasn't telling anyone anything. They all got cryptic little notes telling them where to be and when and what clothing they'd need, but no one ever knew why. Had no way of finding out. Remus and Lily's gossiping didn't help; they were mixing in the wrong circles. Alice and Frank weren't told anything more than James and Lily, but both couples were exempt from the harder active duty. Frank and James had refused a mission together a couple of months ago, pointing out to Dumbledore that their wives were pregnant and they were not putting their lives in that much danger when new life was waiting with bated breath at home. He'd given in, the old man, twinkled at them and promised research duty. He'd delivered, but foisted ever more dangerous and lengthy duties on the members of the Order who weren't procreating. Sending the Prewett's and Sirius and Remus on missions lasting two even three weeks, with no explanation as to why.

No one wanted to address it, but the knowledge that Remus was out there, fighting, about to be killed, whilst they were sipping wine, and relaxing in front of the fire, was enough to drive Sirius home. Home where he could finish Moony's crossword, have a smoke and maybe do some translation. Practice some hexes and curl up in bed, making sure not to take up Remus' space in case he got home in the middle of the night, and not wanting to disturb Sirius, sleep on the sofa. Home that wasn't a home anymore, because it being a flat less half of its occupancy made it feel as if Sirius was renting some horrible room. Made it feel like it had before he'd rescued Moony from that hellhole in Manchester, and insisted he moved down here, that there would always be Floo powder and that he could go and see his dad at any point.

But it wasn't just the flat that felt empty, it was Sirius himself. Sirius who wandered around chatting to himself to fill the space, who couldn't put a record on because they all reminded him of Remus (and oh those swinging hips and dirty smiles and the way he ground him into the floor like flour) and all the books had neat, careful and respectful notations in. The sofa smelled of Moony and sex and beer, and that wasn't any good either.

He couldn't even become Padfoot because then the missing Moony smell would be worse, overpowering and somehow Sirius thought he knew how Bella had said she'd felt when she first got and finished her period. As if that smell and aura was necessary to life. And if he's agreeing with Bella then life must surely be ending because she's mad as a hatter and she went and married that Lestrange idiot, who Sirius knew by reputation to be as cracked as her.

This separation has driven him mad, and he is about to be hauled off to St. Mungo's or to Azkaban for killing Dumbledore. For hauling him up by his collar, and looking into those sodding twinkly eyes and demanding to know where Remus is, if he's safe and what in the name of hell he's doing. For making Dumbledore give them information, stopping this hiding in the dark never knowing where everyone was or why they were there. Sirius knew that keeping information tight was important, you didn't want to be captured and know that after enough torture you'd be giving secrets away, but sometimes when he was hiding in granges feeling like Mariana, he wanted to know why. Wanted to understand why stopping _these_ Death Eaters was important, what they were doing that was so dangerous.

It was horrible, but it was their life, and Sirius sat at the table, idly reading The Prophet and wondering just where they got all this guff from, and wondering if he had time for a wank before the Order meeting or if he should save it up, save all this passion and desire for when Remus made it back, and he hoped (oh God he hoped) that Remus was safe and not too tired and definitely not injured again, and then there was the tell-tale sound of Remus coming up the stairs, even this time, so he'd managed to avoid hurting his leg again, and then the door was clicking and suddenly Sirius' arms were full and the empty space in the flat was gone and there was light again.


End file.
